The Meaning of Darkholme
by LeDiz
Summary: Months after Apocolypse, things have been pretty slow. So when the Brood start hearing noises in the attic, it's easy to ignore Mystique's orders to ignore it and investigate. Who knew they'd find more than rats up there?
1. Default Chapter

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Holy wowzers, I'm writing X-Men Evo again! Hopefully…

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DISCLAIMER: A guy went to a fancy dress party with nothing but a naked girl on his back. The host stares at him for a minute, then asks: "So what are you supposed to be?" The guy shrugs. "A snail." "And who's she?" The guy glances back at the girl, then smiles easily, shrugging again. "That's Michelle."

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You may or may not know the deal: "{blah}" is another language, ' blah ' is telepathy.

* * *

The ground under his feet felt so familiar.

The entire area felt like home. The dusty, weed ridden soil was like the grounds of The Fair; the trees broad and reaching like those of his village; the shade, the air… everything felt the way he thought of his homeland.

This place was real… sacred… honest. It was as strong as iron and twice as resilient. Like his people. Like his world.

He smiled, just breathing it all in, basking in the feeling. No matter how at home he felt at the Institute, it would never have this… It would never be what he was made for.

He opened his eyes, his smile fading in an ironic grunt.

How depressing that he should feel at home in the middle of a cemetery.

None of the others knew he'd come here. He didn't like to tell them. Their reactions to his opinions of Mystique were bad enough. He didn't want to imagine what they'd say if they found out about this particular hobby of his.

A moment passed as he looked around, checking the area.

Empty… Same as always.

Then again, very few people enjoyed cemeteries at midnight, so he probably shouldn't have been surprised.

He started toward the 'altar', his hand absently flicking up to switch off his hologram. He felt like he was betraying some kind of promise if he kept it on while he was here.

He smiled, gazing down at his altar. It wasn't anything special- once a statue of a lion, perhaps… now just a hunk of broken rock. He'd carefully placed four candles on the edges, and one in the middle, resting on a thick piece of black velvet. It wasn't much, but it did the job well enough.

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Scrtchh!

He held up the match, watching the fire thoughtfully for a moment before lowering it to light the candles. Always exactly the same way. Upper left, right, lower left, right, and the centre… He knelt down, gazing at the candles.

Sometimes he wondered why he did this. Why he cared. Why it bothered him at all.

She wasn't part of him anymore. He and Rogue had both moved on, and forgotten about any tie they had with her…

"{Why, though?}" he whispered, lowering his head sadly. "{Love or not, it's still family, isn't it…?}"

He sighed, sinking down to the ground. "{Sometimes…}" he looked up wearily, blinking slowly. "{Sometimes, I just wish things were different…}"

"That can be arranged."

He blinked, and spun around, staring up in shock. "What are y-?!"

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Okay, and now for a real Disclaimer. Not only do I not own the characters, universe and/or jokes in this story, I don't even own the idea. It came from Yma, who I was whining to about not having any story ideas. Henceforth, you can blame her if this turns out really bad. It'll be a relative long shot, even if this is bit is short. Go figure.


	2. Creativity's Dead

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It occurred to me that the idea of 'after apocolypse' doesn't work so well, as everything changed and wasn't really 'defined'. And, unfortunately, I haven't been able to see most of the fourth season. So, if there are heaps of mistakes, I'm afraid I'm going to have to hold up a sign saying 'SLIGHT AU!!!' and leave it at that. Uh huh…

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DISCLAIMER: An old rope and a young rope go into a bar to get a drink. The bartender says: "Sorry, we don't serve drinks to ropes." So the two ropes leave. The old rope ties himself into a knot and goes back in. The bartender says: "Are you a rope?" The old rope answers: "No, I'm a frayed knot."

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* * *

He groaned, but immediately cut himself off- it had just made the pounding in his head about five times worse.

What… happened?

All he could remember was…

He cracked his eyes open, peering through the dim light. All he could see was a half finished painting on an easel, set up in front of a window… his window… his painting?

Why did he feel like a… a… how did that sentence end?

He frowned, his eyes slowly moving from one side of his vision to the other. Where was… someone was always here when he woke up… dammit, who was it? Why couldn't he remember?

"You're awake."

He blinked, turning his head toward the sound. A blue-skinned woman… with bright red hair… his mother? She looked at him apprasingly for a moment, before coming around the bed to crouch down beside him. "You hit your head pretty hard last night… how do you feel?"

He replied automatically. "Alright." He'd hit his head? He couldn't-

"I have to go to work soon. Are you sure you're alright?"

He blinked slowly, then smiled slightly. "Yes."

"Good," she hesitated, then placed her hand on his neck, rubbing her thumb against his pulse gently. "Do you think you'll be alright to read today?"

"I'll have my painting finished by tonight," he promised, smiling.

A moment passed, and he could swear her gaze softened for a moment. But she just leant forward, pressing her lips to his temple. "Remember, no-"

"Going downstairs, or the Fred-monster will eat me," he joked, pushing himself up a little. "I know, Mama."

Her breath hitched, but she just coughed through it, nodding at him fondly. "Good boy."

He pressed a hand to his temple, watching as she stood up, her skin rippling as she changed. He didn't really care- she did this everyday, like some kind of warning that you couldn't go downstairs unless you looked like a normal human.

His mother shook back her now-blonde hair, absently smoothing down her suit. "I'll be back by five," she said, striding toward the staircase that led down to her room. She paused at the top, gazing at him for a moment.

He blinked, lowering his hand. "Something wrong?"

"Hm? Oh… no," she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before looking at him again. "I'll see you tonight, Michael."

He smiled, raising his hand in farewell.

* * *

Another bolt of lightning hit the ground, and Todd flinched at the resulting clap of thunder. "Damn it, where is this storm, right on top of us?"

Pietro looked up, scowling at the window. "Pretty much."

"When's it gonna end?" wondered Fred, folding his arms as he sank further into the couch. "I'm sick of rain, and it's only been three days."

Todd frowned, leaning closer to the window to look at the trees. Most of them were bent almost sideways, their leaves whipping in the wind. Even the big oak that stood across the street was leaning slightly, as if trying to get away from the howling wind. "Hey, uh… maybe it'll clear up tomorrow?"

Pietro snorted, folding his arms in disgust. "Hardly. Don't you listen to the news? They said it'd be like this for another week, at least. All the schools've closed down in case of flooding."

"Well maybe that Storm woman will fix it," offered Fred. "She can do that, right?"

"Doesn't mean she will," he said, glaring at the ceiling. Man, his week could just not get any worse. First, his father had told him to cancel all his plans, because the X-men _might _try something, then Mystique had started doing that I-know-something-and-you-don't-but-if-you-ask-I'll-bite-your-head-off, then the house had started acting up, groaning and clunking, just so he couldn't get any sleep at night, and now this. It was like the entire world was just out to get him.

Not to mention he couldn't get out to any of his dates in this weather.

Could his life get any worse?

The door slammed open, and Todd and Fred turned to watch as Lance stalked in, stripping off a dripping overcoat to throw at the heater. "I tell ya, guys, if she wasn't so damn hot, I would kill her!"

Todd looked up at Fred in confusion, who just shrugged in reply, waiting for Lance to continue.

He shook out his sopping hair, pulling his jacket off. "She's such a bitch, she just assumes everything bad that happens in the entire world is my fault!" he cried, peeling off his shirt as well. "And if something happens to one of her friends, it's like I suddenly turn into the biggest, meanest bastard this side of Manhattan, and if I even try to defend myself, she acts like I'm a frikkin' murderer, or something!"

Pietro turned his head, raising an eyebrow at the damp skin. "Ever heard of a raincoat?"

"Don't you start with me, Road Runner," he snapped, poking a finger at him. "Or I'll rock you so hard your grandkids'll feel it!"

"So who're you talking about, then?" asked Todd, nervously. He didn't really want to be in the middle of another warzone "Kitty, again?"

"Yeah, Kitty again," he growled, walking over to put his wet clothes in a better position over the heater. "That blue wookie's gone missing, and it's been like two weeks, and she says we must've done something to him."

"Us?" repeated Fred.

"Why would we wanna do anything to the freakshow?" asked Todd, jerking his head back. "He don't even react or nothing. He's boring."

Lance shook his head, irritated. "I told her, we aren't really out to get them anymore. We're barely even bad guys anymore," he said. "And she asks me how she can believe me after what I've done. And I ask you, I mean, what the hell have I done?"

Fred shrugged, discreetly gripping Todd's hair to keep him from opening his fat mouth. Pietro yawned, crossing his ankles over the arm of the couch. "So what d'they figure's happened to blue-boy?"

"Aside from us? They think his girlfriend's parents've had him skinned alive."

"Yo, those X-geeks've always gotta assume the worst," grinned Todd.

Lance snorted. "Why fault what works?" he drawled, turning around. "I'm gonna hit the shower. Anyone seen Mystique today?"

"Nah. She left at eight, ain't been back since," said Fred, shrugging. "I wanna know where she's going all the time."

"Who cares?" he snapped, raising a hand as he left the room. He took the stairs two at a time, trying to get to his room quicker. Rainwater might be nice in small doses, but it was just plain freezing in this weather. He paused on the top step, looking around as Wanda's door opened. They blinked at each other for a moment, before he made a face. "You aren't heading for the shower are you? Only I really need one, here…"

"It was a strong effort of the spirit of good," quoted Wanda, looking him up and down. "But it was ineffectual."

He frowned, straightening. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She smirked, tilting her head at him. "Even if I wanted to shower at five in the afternoon, Lance, I'd always step aside for one of you. The need is that much greater," she said, putting a hand on her hip. "And do you really have to walk around like that?"

"I've been out in the storm," he explained, forcing the scowl from her face. He still wasn't sure how he felt about Wanda. She varied between being little sister-sweet and Mystique-crazy, but either way it was to the benefit of all mankind not to be pissed off at her.

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, just looked back at her room. "I was looking for you actually. You wouldn't know anything about some weird noises, would you?"

"He's called Toad, he's an irritating wart."

"No, I mean unfamiliar weird noises," she corrected. "In the walls, and ceiling."

"Oh," he nodded, turning away. "Yeah, I think we've got rats, or the water heater's acting up. No big deal."

She blinked. "Can't you do something about it?"

"No," he said absently. "I hate rats and don't know a thing about houses. Ask Toad."

She rolled her eyes, going back into her room. There were many things she could do… asking Todd for help was not among them.

* * *

Michael sighed, collapsing back on his bed.

He was beginning to think that when he knocked his head on that dresser, he managed to knock any and all creative skill he might have had right out of his mind. For some reason, no matter what he did, his painting just wasn't working.

He'd tried every style he knew, and then tried to create some of his own! He'd looked through all his books, all his old paintings, even tried finger painting, just for something to do! But nothing was coming out!

He threw his paintbrush at the easel, rolling onto his front.

He was painting like an amateur.

Considering he'd been doing this for the last thirteen years of his life, that was pretty bad.

He groaned, covering his head with his arms. He'd been bored stiff, these last two weeks, alternating between being so annoyed with himself that all he could do was hang off his hammock and growl at the world, and getting extremely concerned about his sudden desire to punch something.

Michael wasn't a violent person. He was barely an athletic person. He didn't think like that. Ever.

And those old nightmares about turning into a real animal were starting to come back.

He sighed, raising his head to blink at the wall.

What he needed was something to do. It was only since he stopped painting that he started acting like this. And since his skills in that particular department seemed to have left him, there was only one course of action.

He rose up to his knees, pressing his hands to the mattress so he could tumble, landing catlike on the floor. It was an old game of his, left over from childhood, when his mother would hide his breakfast, and he'd pretend to hunt it. Ahh, for the old days when all he needed to entertain himself was Cartoon Network, action figures and his imagination.

He missed the days when he could live downstairs. His room was really starting to bore him.

The boards didn't even creak under his weight… they were too well enforced over his mother's room. Which was pretty boring really. He wanted a challenge… even if it was just to be as silent as possible, he _needed _a challenge!

A moment passed as he considered his own thoughts. He couldn't remember when he'd ever felt like that. Maybe he was losing his mind… well, his books did say that sort of thing happened to people on their own.

He snickered at the thought. Well, if he was losing his mind, then it looked like it would be a long and boring ride. He might as well entertain himself in the process.

He stalked across the room, and raised his arm with a twirl, pressing it to the dresser. He frowned and slithered onto his back, raising his feet to kick it out of the way. He rolled his eyes as it slid to a slow stop beside the bookcase.

"So effective," he muttered, and leant into the hidden door to open it.

The attic may have been disgusting and full of not only dust and boxes but broken toys as well… but it was different. Somewhere that wasn't his room.

And it had a way into the crawlspace, which led to airvents, which led to the Brotherhood.

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Wow! Who knew my XME writing had gotten this bad in only like a year and a half? Oh well. Slow starts often make for good ends, right? Right?

Well, either way! Feed the Review Vampire!

And Yma- you know you love them.


	3. It's a sign of surveillance

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DISCLAIMER: One day the first grade teacher was reading the story of Chicken Little to her class. She came to the part of the story where Chicken Little tried to warn the farmer. She read, ".... and so Chicken Little went up to the farmer and said, "The sky is falling, the sky is falling!" The teacher paused then asked the class, "And what do you think that farmer said?" One little girl raised her hand and said, "I think he said: 'Holy Mackerel! A talking chicken!'" The teacher was unable to teach for the next 10 minutes.

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Michael grinned, crawling slowly down the wall.

He just couldn't understand why he'd never done this before! He couldn't remember ever going through the house upside-down, but wow, was it fun! And it just felt so natural! Like he'd been doing it forever!

Ah, there it was. Misused air vent at three o'clock!

He absently made a mental note to thank someone for not bothering to realise there was built in heating in the house, and gently pried off the rusting gate.

"Not as seen on TV," he muttered, frowning at the small compartment. Not even he could fit in that hole.

Now how was he supposed to get his kicks? He was bored brainless, here.

He blinked, looking back up at his path. He'd heard his mother yell at the Brotherhood, only the night before, about smoking in their bedrooms. There had to be some way that she knew that, when she'd been at work for twelve hours of the day.

The Brotherhood might not have been the brightest bunch, but even they knew better than to let something like smell get in the way. Which meant there had to be… a visual way! Of course! Like his book… what was it… 1984!

Cameras!

It was so simple!

Why had he never thought of this before? Before Toad moved in, he'd been a big TV buff. He could remember thousands of movies, and TV shows. He should've spent the last three years watching Mystique's Big Brother tapes!

"Whoa…"

He paused, flattening his hands and feet against the wall, trying to force back a sudden headache.

Talk about your dizzy spells. He could swear he'd just run into a brick wall.

Now… what had he been doing? Oh, right, going to find his mother's surveillance tapes. Right.

* * *

"So. Anyone heard the rat that's moved in upstairs?" began Todd, swinging his chair back lazily. "Loud one, ain't he?"

Wanda closed the fridge with a smirk, chocolate bar in hand. "I'm think about calling him Pietro."

"Yeah, he is pretty fast, hey?" agreed Lance, peering around Fred's shoulder at the dinner.

"And there's another comparison to support my suggestion," she said, raising her bar in farewell as she sauntered out of the room.

Lance rolled his eyes. "She can be okay with her evil overlord of a father, but you ask her for a minute of truce between siblings, and she hexes you."

"Don't she just make your heart flutter?" cooed Todd, clasping his hands over his chest.

"Sock it, Toad," said Lance, collapsing into his chair. "So, you gonna go after the rat, or what?"

"Hey, yo, I eat bugs, not rodents."

"Yeah, but you're the only one that can fit into the walls and put up with all the spiders and junk in there," he said, pointing at him. "Pietro could just make it, but the idea of the dust getting in his hair would probably be enough to put him out for a week."

Fred snorted. "Why's that such a bad idea?"

He grinned, but turned back to Todd regardless. "Just go and check it out, wouldja? Mystique ain't noticed it yet, but I don't want to be around when she does."

"Yeah, yeah, tomorrow night, sure, whatever, man," he said, waving him off, then grinned suddenly, straightening. "Yo, I just got a wicked idea! How's about we paint the rat blue and give it to the X-geeks? Say like, 'yo, here's the only blue fuzzbutt we got', and they can stop pesterin' us and saying we did stuff."

"Yeah, right. Kitty'd probably just say it was Mystique in disguise and beat me up for trying to put a spy in their house…" He sighed, slumping his chin into his hand. "I wish she'd just chill out, you know? It's not like I don't like her or anything…"

"Maybe she's just stressed right now," offered Fred. "You know how close she and the wookie are. You're just… you know… there."

"Thanks, Freddy. That really helps."

"Just saying."

"Hey, maybe you could like, go out and find him, and then she'd be all 'oh, Lance, you're like my total hero' and kiss ya and get all soppy and stuff," jabbered Todd, grinning. "She'd fall in love with you for sure if you're a hero!"

"Right…" he said, raising an eyebrow at him. "And exactly where am I gonna find the blue fuzzball, in this weather, if the X-geeks haven't found him yet? They've got psychics, and weather witches, and that damn badger! What've I got that they don't?"

"Animal magnetism?"

"I repeat: that damn badger."

"Oh yeah…"

"Come on, Toad. It's been two weeks. If the guy don't want to be found, then he won't be found. He's probably dead somewhere, stinking up somebody's trash can."

* * *

Michael made a face, scrunching his nose away from the smell.

He loved his mother, he really did. But whatever she kept in that back closet, he just did not want to know.

He frowned, folding his arms in annoyance as he gazed around the room. Okay. So he'd searched the cupboard, the draws, under the bed, over the bed, in the bed and behind the bed… the tapes probably weren't near the bed. But he knew they had to exist somewhere! His mother wasn't a telepath-

He blinked, raising a hand to his head.

-she wasn't a psychic! She had to have some way of spying on the…

"So sick of this dump… s'posed to run through life, not get stuck in… this close to just…"

He frowned, moving over to the door, curious. He could hear someone on the other side. He knew the voice… talking so fast it had to be Quicksilver. The one his mother didn't trust for second. But his room was down the hall… what was he doing down here?

He crouched down, peering through the keyhole. He couldn't see him… oh, wait, there he was, stalking toward him from the other end. Very fast…

"Gonna go nuts in this place, these people are insane!" muttered Pietro, before he turned and headed back the way he'd come.

Ah. He was just pacing. He could never stand still for long.

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"It's his weakness. Once you can pin Quicksilver down, you have him. He'd go mad in one place forever".

He clenched his eyes shut, turning his head away from a flash headache.

The last two weeks, he'd just been getting them constantly… in waves.

Maybe he should tell his mother… that hit on the head might've done something…

It would explain why he'd been so restless, too. He just didn't want to be locked down here, anymore. He was bored, and had too much energy, these days. He'd say it was the rain, but that hadn't been going for long enough.

"Argh, what's happening to me?" he groaned, pressing his palm against his eye. "I don't understand!"

Outside, Pietro froze, staring over his shoulder.

He could hear something from Mystique's room.

"Hey, Wanda!" he called, turning back to the front as she reached the landing. "Is Mystique back yet?"

"No," she said blankly, continuing through to her room.

He flinched, spinning around to face Mystique's door, listening to the soft mumble. "You sure?"

"What's your problem, now?" she demanded, leaning against the doorframe. "It's just a rat."

"That doesn't sound like a rat…" he said, slowly. "There's something in there."

"Fine. A raccoon. Something trying to get out of the rain," she rolled her eyes. "There's no reason to be such a wimp."

He scowled, folding his arms. "Hey, look, I didn't want to say anything before, but I saw Mystique bring something home the other week, and now I start hearing noises in the roof, and now there's some _thing _in her room," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "Are you really gonna put it past Mystique to keep some creepy pet in there, until we're all asleep, and then set it on us?"

She gazed at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "If she's going to that, she's sure taking her time."

"Like that means anything where Mystique's concerned."

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "What are you so scared of?"

"Oh, I dunno," he said conversationally. "Maybe one of Mystique's little protégé's coming to kill us all?"

She smiled blandly, raising her chocolate bar to point. "And you have had too much sugar. Go learn how to use a Yo-yo, or something."

"I am telling you, there's something in there!"

"And I am telling you, I don't care!" she cried, putting her free hand on her hip. "We're sending Toad into the crawlspace tomorrow morning. If he comes back dead, I'll believe you. In the meantime, I was in the middle of reading the adult Alice in Wonderland. Now grow up, Pie-pie."

He scowled turning back to the door. He frowned, narrowing his eyes at the sudden silence.

Maybe they were right… maybe he was just reacting to the lack of anything that had been happening lately.

Or maybe Mystique was finally sick of them, and gonna do something about it.

Either way, whatever Toad came back with tomorrow, he wasn't sticking around to find out.

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I think I've figured out why this is going so slow. I'm so used to writing longer chapters for my, to quote Harry, whore-stories, that the usual XME ones don't seem enough. But I'm too lazy to write more for each chapter. Hm. Oh well. It'll be a good story when I'm finished!

Hey Zero-Vision. Well, yes and no. The name Michael came from that story, but the idea for this came from Yma, and the actual storyline's turning out a lot different. But yeah, basically…

Me- How ya doing? Yugi may be a whore, but he pimps damn well. I'm on 260 reviews for an eighteen chapter story. I am not complaining. But no, I haven't rejoined you. I don't think I'll be visiting the nutboard again… but yes, all hail the Brotherhood! No, no, it's not Meet Mikie, and I hope you can get what's going on. If not, you shall have to wait and see!

Aw, thanks, Yma. The story's gonna speed up next chapter! [/sing] Sorry. That point's been bugging me. I'm glad my discriptions are getting there, though they weren't really in this chapter. I had to chop out a bit cause I kept repeating myself. Don't ya hate it when that happens?

Much thanks, Mimato-4eva. Sorry I didn't review. Combination of stupid computer, schoolwork and laziness. But so far, it looks pretty good. I think once you get into your rhythm, you'll have a fantastic fictive going there.


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